A ghostly tale by The Dilemma and Arriaga Pizzoza
Bischoff was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by Ted Turner, Time Warner, the Undertaker, and all WCW loyalists. McMahon signed it: and McMahon’s name was good for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Bischoff was as dead as a door-nail.
McMahon knew he was dead; they had been rivals for I don’t know how many years until McMahon prevailed, and immediately erased Bischoff’s name from all the legal records and history books.
There he sat on his office, the morning of Wrestlemania 31: McMahon! A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, did odd things to his hair, enlarged his testicles, stiffened his gait.
On this particular morning, McMahon sat alone in his office in Levi’s Stadium (for McMahon had his workers build him an exact replica of his office in every arena where the company visited), counting stacks of coin and keeping a close eye on the running total of WWE Network subscribers.
“Happy Wrestlemania morning, father-in-law!” cried a cheerful voice.
- Borussia Dortmund’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Season
- Eddie Murphy and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Opening Weekend
- Nicki Minaj and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Appropriation of Nazi Imagery
- The Blame Game: Why Alexander Needs to Accept Responsibility For His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Trust me, I’m recommending this break from a place of love and understanding.
The Dilemma: Is this the year I officially turned into Rolling Stone? Am I David Fricke now? Because most of the music I really liked this year was from established acts. A couple legit old-timers, yes, but also indie/alternative bands with multiple albums under their belt that appeared to be on the downswing. In addition to those listed below, I enjoyed albums from the Old 97s, Jenny Lewis, The Both (Ted Leo and Aimee Mann), Ryan Adams, and others.
The Dilemma, ca. 2014
Ladies and gentlemen, the 2014 World Series began last night.
And this year, I think we all know the World Series means just a little bit more.
Because this was the last year that Derek Jeter graced a baseball field, and all that happens in his wake this post-season will happen under a large shadow in the shape of the number 2.
Both the Royals and the Giants have obviously dedicated their seasons to the Captain, and are playing to earn his undying respect. Sorry: re2pect. Therefore, we can safely assume that whoever wins the Series will do so by playing the most Jeterian game possible under the circumstances, and reinventing themselves in Jeter’s image.
So let’s this break this down so we can make a scientific prediction: who will win the 2014 World Series?
Thank you, C.M. Punk.
Wrestlemania XXX is arguably the most important event for the WWE since Wrestlemania III. It has a big round number, and the WWE loves to play up round numbers. The company recently launched the WWE Network, the much-discussed online streaming and on-demand subscription channel that will air all future pay-per-views, original programming, and an insane amount of material from the vault. WWE’s stock price has tripled in the last 18 months on the back of plans for the network, and Wrestlemania is the first big test for the new business model.
This morning, when someone asked me if I had heard about Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin’s break-up, I made a noise that I can only describe as, “Vince McMahon orgasming at a body-building competition.”
This is our last goodbye
I hate to feel the love between us die
But it’s over
Just hear this and then I’ll go
You gave me more to live for
More than you’ll ever know
The Jets released The Sanchise last week, bringing an inevitable end to one of the most fascinating and tumultuous eras in Jets history. While it’s long been clear that Mark Sanchez would never be an effective quarterback for the Jets again, I’m still grappling with nostalgia and sadness at his departure.
Because even though Sanchez became a joke by the end of his Jets tenure, he still presided over — by far — the best time in my life to be a Jets fan. And if you were born after 1969, this was the best time in anyone’s life to be a Jets fan.